


living ultralife

by holtzmanns



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: (so is brooke), Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lots of fluff actually, M/M, how did it get this fluff, i'm SOFT, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzmanns/pseuds/holtzmanns
Summary: He hosted the viewing party at Roscoe’s stone cold sober a few days prior so that he could hold things back and be intentionally vague – unlike drunk him, who spilled too much information at all the wrong times. He told the crowd that he wasn’t going to see her for a few weeks, which isn’t quite a lie. He really is going to see her in three weeks – except, he’s also going to see her way before that, too.Based on Brooke going to LA recently during her time off, and spending it with Vanessa.





	living ultralife

**Author's Note:**

> This fic uses male pronouns for Brooke and female pronouns for Vanessa for ease of reading more than anything else, though it is still a M/M fic. 
> 
> @beanierose is the most wonderful human in the world for reading this over and editing it, I love her so much. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you all so, so much for feedback on my last fic, I appreciate it more than you know.

_6:03 pm | Jose: Get your ass over here!!_

_6:04 pm | Brock: Miss me already? It’s only been two weeks._

_6:05 pm | Jose: Shut up, you miss me too. And it’s two weeks too long lol_

_6:05 pm | Brock: You’re not wrong about that._

_6:06 pm | Jose: Which one??_

_6:07 pm | Brock: Both. Wednesday can’t come fast enough._

Brooke smiles at his phone, before placing it down gently on the table. He grabs his lash glue to put the final touches on his makeup. He’s ready almost an hour before his call time for the Saturday night gig, discipline from years of ballet touring rendering him unable to leave preparations to the last minute.

The local queens bustle around him in the communal dressing room in various states of undress, tugging on pairs upon pairs of tights and bantering over his head with one another. They’re all friendly enough to him - they are in every bar - but he knows that most of them are regarding him with a wary eye. He can’t blame them; he used to be one of them too – watching the RuGirls swoop in for gigs and electrify the crowd while wondering how on _earth_ they made the cut for the show, what they had that he hadn’t.

He’s reached the goal that he’s been striving for for the past four years after auditioning over and over again, finally hearing “ _Congratulations, you’re on season 11”_ over a crackly phone call from a producer who probably knew exactly how much he just changed his life. Brooke is now one of the so-called lucky ones who fly around the country for gigs in every city and town, living out of a suitcase and catching up on sleep in airport departure lounges. Brooke’s grateful: aware of his luck and the novelty of people knowing his name before he even has to introduce himself. How his career opportunities have skyrocketed.

The nomadic lifestyle, however, leaves things to be desired. He misses his cats. They’re safe; he’s lucky to have friends in Nashville with no hesitation about taking them in while he’s away, but he misses their purring when he’d wake up in the mornings and the way they’d always try to grab a bite of his food.

Brooke also misses Vanessa.

It had been nice, after filming was over. They had felt like they had all the time in the world, with no cameras being shoved in their faces and no wayward producers dragging them over to film confessionals about the other. The months had been filled with visits upon visits to LA, Vanessa coming to Nashville (he showed her all of his favourite things in the city and introduced her to all of his favourite people and she truly, truly became a part of him), and a trip to Toronto where he showed her a past that not many others had been privy to.

The cast announcement had changed things. His Instagram followers shot up at the speed of light, his manager suddenly juggling requests for interviews and bookings across the country. It’s why they decided to take a break, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to keep their relationship the way it had been over the past, blissful six months after filming.

Vanessa is used to the grind from the previous season, after all, but it’s new for Brooke. It would only be wise to focus on their careers when the window of opportunity was the biggest as their season aired. Or at least, that’s what they had told themselves a few months prior. It didn’t last.

They had both pined for longer than either of them wanted to admit, avoiding talking about their feelings and how much they _missed_ each other. And then he had gotten a drunken FaceTime call from Vanessa, punctuated with _I’m sorry_ and _can we please try again p l e a s e_ (the only parts he still remembers from the conversation, his heart had been beating too loud to hear the rest) and everything had changed.

It has been okay so far, pretty much how Brooke had expected it to be. He misses her just the same as he did when they took a break, still feels her absence and a tug in his chest every time he thinks about her, but now he can _talk_ to her again. They’re not absurdly avoiding each other in the way that they had started to when neither of them wanted to say how they felt about the situation.

His phone _dings_ with another message from Vanessa, a mirror selfie before she begins to paint for her own gig later in the evening. Brooke can’t help the smile on his face as he sends her a string of emojis in reply (something he _never_ used to use in his texts before her).

Vanessa is one time zone and two flights away from Brooke, in LA for a week while he’s in Edmonton. Or is it Calgary? The cities are already beginning to blend together for him, despite touring only for a few months.                                           

He hosted the viewing party at Roscoe’s stone cold sober a few days prior so that he could hold things back and be intentionally vague – unlike drunk him, who spilled too much information at all the wrong times. He told the crowd that he wasn’t going to see her for a few weeks, which isn’t quite a lie. He really is going to see her in three weeks – except, he’s also going to see her way _before_ that, too.

Brooke has a flight booked for Nashville the next day, to decompress for a few days at home and to switch out both boy and drag outfits before travelling again. His plan after that is to fly to LA on Wednesday for a gig, and more importantly to see _her._ He’s been counting down the days (now four to go) until LA for the last week and wonders why on earth he’s planned on stopping in Nashville in the first place.

The idea comes to him as he’s gluing down his lace. Why _does_ he have to stop in Nashville?

He texts Courtney, his part-time assistant and full-time friend, to ask if there was maybe, possibly, some way he could switch his flight. He braces for her reply.

She calls him back in a matter of seconds. “You want to _what_?!”

“I know, I know! It’s last minute-“

“Yeah, no _shit_ -“

“I just have some things to do in LA, that’s all.”

Brooke can hear Courtney’s snort on the other end of the line. “Oh, I know exactly what you want to do. Or who.”

“Shut up.” He hangs up the phone grinning, knowing that despite her teasing she’ll try to work something out.

The rational part of his brain is wondering about flight ticket cancellation fees, ungodly layovers, and being stuck with his current clothes for another few weeks, but the rambling thoughts are being overshadowed by the idea of seeing Vanessa earlier than planned. Should he surprise her? Should he call her now? God, he’s tempted, he wants to hear her reaction to the idea right this second.

He decides against it. He’d rather see that reaction in person.

* * *

Courtney pulls through as she always does, cancelling his Nashville ticket and instead managing to book him on a flight to LA for early Sunday morning by the time his gig is over for the night.

“You have to head to the airport in three hours,” she says. “You won’t get any sleep but it was the only one with seats still available. You’re welcome.”

Brooke is practically giddy when going through the security lines, despite the early hour and disgruntled travellers around him. He sends Vanessa a good morning text as he boards, knowing she won’t read it until she wakes up in another few hours, but wanting to message her before he’s in the air nonetheless.

Brooke is used to plane rides. He takes Xanax for the long ones, and sleeps or watches Netflix for the rest. His current three and a half hour journey to LA, while shorter and spread over two flights, feels endless in comparison. His leg bounces up and down and he’s drawn a glare from his seatmate once already.

The Uber from the airport to Vanessa’s place feels just as long. The LA traffic makes him feel as if he could walk through the gridlock and still get there faster. The lack of sleep is catching up to him and his head falls slack against the car window more than once.

His exhaustion fades when he finally, finally reaches her apartment. The Uber driver is nice, taking pity on Brooke and helping him bring his suitcases to the building’s elevator. He lugs his bags to Vanessa’s front door on his own, and has to catch his breath ever so slightly before knocking.

“Coming, coming!”

Brooke can hear her gravelly voice on the other side getting closer, and he is unable to suppress his grin when it is followed by the sound of tripping and a slight _oof_.   

“Damn I need to clean, now who the fuck is knocking so early on a Sunday-“

The door swings open and he’s face to face with Vanessa, whose bleary eyes size him up and take a second to register-

“What are you _doing_ here!” Her hug is crushing his ribs and he doesn’t care, he’s here and _she’s_ here and in his arms and all the travelling was _worth it._ “I’m so _happy_ , what the hell Brock, come here.“

She pulls him down for a kiss, one that doesn’t last long because their grins get in the way. When they pull back Vanessa’s eyes are sparkling and she runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his cheek, his hair, like she can’t believe that he’s standing in front of her. In all honesty, neither can he.

“Surprise?” Brooke offers, and Vanessa cracks up, pulling him in for another hug. He swears that he hears a contented sigh when he kisses the top of her head.

“What happened to stopping in Nashville for a few days?”

The hug and his jacket muffle her voice. He shrugs, as much as he can in their current position.

“I couldn’t wait until Wednesday.”

It’s the truth. How could he when they both have days off? All time that he can spend with her. He feels like he’d be able to be in her company forever and not tire of it, never wanting to stop hearing her laugh and ramblings and everything else that comes out of her mouth. He doesn’t ever want to stop being able to pull her close and hug her and kiss her, being able to relish in the feeling of how perfectly they fit together.

After all, he’s tried once. _They’ve_ tried once. It didn’t work. He never wants to try it again.

“You look beat,” she says when she looks up at him, her own sleepy eyes roaming over his face.

Brooke can feel the exhaustion of the journey starting to hit his system now that he’s made it, now that he’s with her.

“My flight was at five.”

She shakes her head incredulously. “When did you plan this?”

“…Last night.”

“You’re absolutely batshit, you know that? I love it.” Vanessa reaches on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek when he protests that statement, then tugs on his hand. “C’mon.”

She helps him bring his suitcases inside. Brooke closes the door, then tilts her face up with two fingers under her chin. His lips are on hers and his heart is going to burst. He feels like he’s home and it’s like he never left, like he has forever to go with her.

Vanessa tugs the jacket off of Brooke’s shoulders, leaving it on top of the pile of suitcases. She grabs his hand and pulls him to her room, which is now becoming as familiar to him as his own. He has a nook for his clothes in her closet, a toothbrush by the sink and he never thought that he’d have this, that he’d _want this_ but it feels so right and perfect. She’s right and perfect.

She goes to her dresser and tosses him a pair of shorts that he gratefully changes into (why _did_ he wear jeans for his flight this morning?), and he tugs off his shirt for good measure. It’s still early in the morning, and by her stifled yawn he can tell that she’s on the same wavelength as he is. Everything else can wait.

Vanessa pulls him to the bed, and he climbs under the covers on his side (he has a _side,_ he’s never had a side in someone’s bed before her) like it’s second nature. She curls into him as easy as breathing, her warm body pressing into his and making him feel like he’s defrosting on the inside. Her head rests against his chest and his arms wrap around her, as if letting go of her means that he won’t be here anymore.

Her fingers tracing up his sides and the lingering smell of her cologne help to ground him, to remind him that he is really here.

“I missed you.” It’s a whisper. She’s quiet when she’s feeling soft and sentimental, something he’s grown to understand.

He holds her impossibly tighter. “I missed you, too.”

Brooke doesn’t know if Vanessa has heard him. Her breathing is already beginning to slow down and her fingers are stilling as she drifts off. He doesn’t mind. They have days in front of them, and he can tell it to her as many times as she wants to hear it. And that she’s truly a part of him now, in his veins and his mind all the time and there’s no way that he can get her out. Not that he ever wants to.

He’s criss-crossed the continent over the last few months, travelled from city to city. As he lies in bed with Vanessa and feels the rise and fall of her chest as his own body succumbs to sleep, he discovers that he’s already found his favourite place in the world – and it’s with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at @plastiquetiaras on tumblr, I always love to chat.


End file.
